


On The Inside

by phaetonschariot



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Bloodplay, Dark, Knifeplay, M/M, Vore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-21
Updated: 2012-04-21
Packaged: 2017-11-04 01:19:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/388069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phaetonschariot/pseuds/phaetonschariot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ianto Jones has always been good at cleaning up messes. Ianto Jones once told Jack that he'd watch him suffer and die.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On The Inside

When Ianto told Owen that Jack needed him, it wasn't petulance or delusion. None of them know, none of them would guess, the things they do under the floor of Jack's office, down underneath his throne room. If they were told, none of them would believe it. It's probably enough of a stretch to take in the fact that it is Jack stretched out on his bed, cuffs sharp and tight around his wrists and sweat forming a second skin, layer of salt to mark his grief and guilt, tear tracks on his face, panting harshly. And that's without the knife in Ianto's hand, the blood on his hands and Jack's bare chest. The sweat stings in the cuts and Jack swallows a hiss and sobs, "Please."

They don't always do this. They'd never even made it down here before Jack found out about Lisa, just the odd handjob or mutual frottage up against walls every so often, three times in a month to be exact. And then there'd just been lust (against Ianto's better judgement), and when he propositioned Jack over Suzie's twice-dead body it had been for proper sex, moans and laughter and more standard bodily fluids. Even still loving Lisa, he can't regret Jack, and he tries to think that she'd have liked him.

Though perhaps right now she wouldn't have liked either of them, as Ianto draws the knife down Jack's body again, the new line parallel to the one before, half an inch apart. Jack doesn't breathe, doesn't move, doesn't make a sound until he's nearly done and then it's only a whimper that he chokes on, though another tear swells the wet line down the side of his face and Ianto leans forward a little to catch it with his thumb, leaving a faint bloody smear as he sucks it from his skin, swallowing Jack's tears and taking his burdens into himself. Ianto Jones has always been good at cleaning up messes. Ianto Jones once told Jack that he'd watch him suffer (and die, though he has more control than to allow that to happen). Combining the two is simply efficient.

He waits as Jack's chest heaves, as blood wells up in the slice and joins what is already there. It doesn't bleed as much as some other places in the body, not like a head wound or a gash to the outside of a calf, but the access is easy and it's more about the symbolism anyway, symbolism and sensation. He waits until Jack is calmer again, though still shaking, quivering, and then he shifts his grip on the knife, holds it horizontal rather than vertical, joins the cuts at the bottom and slides it up, up, right up under the thin layer of ribboned flesh. 

Jack yells, and he rubs his hip gently, soothingly with his free hand. It doesn't matter anymore where he gets the blood; it's everywhere anyway, he could paint Jack in it if he wanted to. He puts the knife down on the (reddened) sheets (his fingerprints are clear on it, tacky and half-drying) and shifts back, moves his weight from Jack's thighs to Jack's knees so he can bend down properly until he has cock in his face, and even though it's far more soft than hard he kisses it anyway, sucks a little on the head before sliding further up. He props himself up on his elbows, either side of Jack's body, and gazes up at him, waiting until he opens his eyes and looks back.

"Alright?" he asks, voice level and calm and normal, and waits again as Jack opens his mouth, licks his lips, then just nods. His eyes are clearer than they were when Ianto had walked into his office, and that settles something in his stomach, takes the bitterness away so he's left with something lighter and thrilling. He lowers his head and tastes Jack's skin, Jack's blood, like he could identify the thing that makes him who he is and hold onto it forever, keeping Jack on his tongue, secret and his. Mostly, though, he just tastes like blood and sweat. Salty, like his tears. He tastes a little like the sea, sometimes.

He flicks his tongue against the trailing skin, gets the end into his mouth and feels saliva flow. He loves sucking Jack's cock, but this is about a thousand times more intimate, this is Jack inside him in a way no one else gets, no matter how many people he sleeps with before or after him. This, right now, is him holding power over Jack Harkness, between his _teeth_ , and after a moment he tugs more in and Jack grunts at the feeling where the ribbon still connects to his body. The nerves connected to the skin Ianto now has hold of are gone, dead, and that one point of contact where not-anymore-Jack becomes Jack again is what makes it all real.

Human teeth are not sharp and it's hard to bite through, like chewing on the pork rinds that didn't quite crackle, but he's done this before and he knows the trick to it now, the right way to angle his teeth to tear the skin off and then he swallows. He wants to shudder at the feeling of it going down his throat but even so his dick is hard and he knows (he's done this before) that later he'll find himself in the shower jerking off as Jack's blood washes pink down the drain. When he's done he'll be clean of all of it, nothing to show that he once held Jack's life in his hands, but there'll still be a piece of him inside, where it's safe, and for a few days he'll be able to watch him laugh easily again. 

And, really, that's what both of them need, in the end.


End file.
